


East Coast

by earthseraph



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Schmoop, Skinny Steve, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3067280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is the best-worst thing that ever happened to Bucky. There’s nothing better and nothing worse that could happen to him that would trump Steven Grant Rogers ever coming into his life. It’s a bittersweet thing, really, and Bucky sure as hell doesn’t know how to deal with it.</p><p>(Or: Bucky pinning over Steve before getting it together and asking him out)</p>
            </blockquote>





	East Coast

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [honesteve](honesteve.tumblr.com) for helping me through all this, couldn't have done it without you ~~and Taylor Swift's 1989 album~~
> 
> (Fic title is a reference to the band Best Coast, and each 'part' of the fic is a song title/quote from one of their songs.)

Steve is the best-worst thing that ever happened to Bucky. There’s nothing better and nothing worse that could happen to him that would trump Steven Grant Rogers ever coming into his life. It’s a bittersweet thing, really, and Bucky sure as hell doesn’t know how to deal with it.

* * *

**1\. Boyfriend:**  
 ****

_“I wish he was my boyfriend_  
I wish he was my boyfriend  
I'd love him till the very end  
But instead he is just a friend  
I wish he was my boyfriend” 

Bucky groaned inwardly at the sight of his best friend-slash-dorm mate waking up. Hair matted and tangled like a small woodland creature had a party in it, red lines down his face from where he had pressed it into his creased pillow some time during the night, blue eyes half open, and an utterly confused look on his face. 

That’s how he looked every morning and Bucky just _can’t_ deal with that kind of perfection. But he does, deal, that is. He stores the mental image in a file far back in his brain and pretends to sleep while Steve stumbles out of his bed, walking over the papers that cluttered the floor from the previous night’s study session (which ended in both of them laying on the carpet, watching the ceiling fan rotate in circles, and talking about what they would do if the world ended tomorrow, their fingers brushing in a way Bucky told himself meant nothing), to their bathroom. Polite as ever, he shut the door with a soft _click_ after hesitating for an odd moment. When the door was closed, locked flipped and all, Bucky let out the breath he was holding because why him? 

See, him and Steve have been friends for as long as he can remember. They met on the playground of some random park Bucky’s mom decided to take him to, Steve with dirty knees and missing his front tooth, sun in his eyes, and jumbo crayons stuffed in his pant pockets. Bucky, only seven, didn’t know what he was getting into when he asked the innocent looking kid if he could sit with him on the seesaw. That day they played, and played, and played, until their moms pulled them off the swing set, exchanged landlines so they could set up a playdate, and made them say goodbye to each other.

After that, they were joined at the hip.

As it turned out, Steve lived in the apartment complex across from Bucky’s and they went to the same school- in different classes, though. But, boy did they manage to get in trouble when they were together. Steve trying to defend some girl in their class that wanted to play in the sandbox but was kicked out by one of the rougher boys, only to get a punch to his nose, making Bucky step in and punch the kid back. The teacher ended up pulling them apart before more than a couple sloppy swings got thrown and sent them to the principal’s office. Of course the principal knew their names and parent’s numbers by now- but, that’s just what happened when you’re Steve’s right hand man. 

Then they ended up going to the same middle school together. It was the exact same as elementary, only this time they had more friends and their fights weren’t just physical but verbal as well. But, that wasn't all what being friends with Steve was about. It was full of imaginative adventures, calm weekend out to Coney Island, deep talks that twelve year olds shouldn’t have, and a friend he knew he never wanted to lose. 

Then high school came around and that’s when Bucky _noticed_.

He noticed how his eyes lingered on Steve longer than they probably should, how when he went out with girls he’d rather be sitting with Steve instead, how when prom popped up in front of their faces he yearned for Steve to be the one he was asking. 

He noticed that no matter how much he loved his hands on the soft curves of a girl he’d rather his hands rest on a skinny waist, how he wanted soft naturally-red lips against his and not sticky pigmented-red. He noticed how much he wanted Steve- how much he wanted Steve as more than a friend and more than a casual fuck. It was like his senses of the casual touches him and Steve shared were amplified. A hand brush here left him frozen, their ankles touching under the table would make his knees weak, their thighs pressed together made him want to screw everything and kiss Steve. 

But he never did anything about it. As much as his friends who thought they knew something egged him on- like that one memorable moment when Natasha tried to get him drunk and make him confess _something_ -he kept his lips tight, focused on other things, and tried not to fall ever harder than he already was- but of course that’s when Steve decided they’d go to NYU together and share a dorm. And how could Bucky say no to that? 

He couldn’t say no, not to something he himself wanted, so he applied and got in with a scholarship. They both left Brooklyn for Manhattan with the stars in their eyes and hearts on their sleeves. It was like a dream, both of them going to the same college, trying to sync up classes, and living in the same dorm together. It was the best, worst, decision ever.

A dorm where Bucky couldn’t couldn’t just _be_ , where he saw the ridges of Steve’s shoulders every time the guy took his shirt off, where only a thin wall was between them when Steve took a shower, where Bucky had to clench his hands as hard as he could so he didn’t kiss Steve quiet when the kid decided to go off on a tangent. A dorm where there wasn’t any separation between them but some tiles on the floor and a bathroom wall, but none of that seemed to matter to Steve. No, the kid liked sleeping on Bucky’s bed when his breathing got bad, he liked pulling on Bucky’s clothes when he was half asleep, he liked doing so many things that made Bucky’s heart skip a beat and made him hold his tongue between his teeth when something small like Steve’s hip bones were showing because Bucky’s sweats were too big for him. It made him want to tell Steve everyday but doing nothing about it. 

And Bucky wants to tell Steve, he does, but telling him could mean one of three things: One would be Steve gives him the saddest puppy-dog look ever and lets him down easy because he doesn’t swing/feel that way. Two would be he gets the most disgusted look from Steve’s face, kicked out of his dorm room, and Steve never speaks to him again for as long as they live. Three- and the most unlikely in Bucky’s book- would be Steve smiling at him with a blonde flop of hair in his eyes and a rosy blush on his cheeks because he’s felt the same since god knows when.

He wants to tell him, but he can’t- not now- and he won’t. So, instead, he’ll settle on staring at the bathroom door while Steve showers, longing and wanting, but doing nothing about it.

* * *

**2\. Our Deal:**  
 ****

_“I wish you would tell me_  
How you really feel  
But you'll never tell me  
'Cause that's not our deal” 

The library was quiet where they sat, textbooks open in front of their faces, and notebooks strewn around each of them. In front of him was Steve (art history book propped in front of him, sans headphones because he’d never been able to study with music playing), next to Steve was Sam (physcology book open, a pen cap in his mouth, and headphones on), and next to himself was Nat (Russian studies book open, headphones in, and painting her nails a nice shade of blue that Bucky knew wouldn’t last a week before she changed it.) He, himself, flipping through a worn copy of On The Road, hoping he could write a paper over it for English, while trying not to blatantly stare at Steve- and wasn't that a feat. 

He stared down at the book, reading but not catching any words because Steve’s feet were resting against his own, and tapped the eraser of his pencil against his lips. Maybe telling Steve how he felt wouldn’t be such a bad thing, he thought, maybe getting it off his chest would be better than balling it up and acting like it didn’t exist. Huh.

Bucky put the book down and tapped his pencil against the black cover. He thought back to the last time he tried to get Steve to have a heart-to-heart with him. 

It was a couple years ago, senior year of high school, and Peggy had just left back to England. He remembered Steve having a crush in the girl (and fuck did that hurt when Steve told him about that girl in their pre-calc class with the red lips and an English accent), about to ask her out to prom, when she gave them the sad news of having to leave back for London. Bucky didn’t know her all too well- having kept away from someone who he knew made Steve happy so his own jealousy didn’t taint that- but he knew Steve was in pain, hurting for the girl he wanted to be with but couldn’t. 

So Bucky tried talking to him.

He took the kid out to the park like the old days, both of them sitting on the swings and rocking ever-so-slightly in the wind, he stayed quiet for the first ten or so minutes. Letting Steve have a few quiet moments to think, and letting himself not be bitter towards Steve or Peggy because _he_ was the one who loved Steve, not _her_. He remembers letting himself kick off the ground for a swing or two before asking Steve what he was going to about Peggy, and Steve- the stubborn little shit- squared his shoulders, stared off into the distance of the park, and said nothing. He knew his friend was hurting, so he asked again, and that time Steve sighed roughly before jumping off the swing and walking away. 

They didn’t talk for about a week after that. It felt like the longest week of Bucky’s life. A week missing bright eyed smiles, missing casual touches here and there, missing everything that Bucky needed in his life. 

Bucky wasn’t sure what the end result would be this time but he knew he wanted to tell Steve, and what time’s better than the present? Natasha and Sam have headphones on, they can’t hear a thing, and he’s getting nowhere on his essay, why not now? 

“Hey, Steve.” His voice is hushed to a slight whisper in the library, and butterflies are tearing up his stomach with nerves, the foot resting against his own warm and grounding. 

Steve, with a flop of hair in front of his eyes, looked up from the book and smiled, “Yeah, Buck?”

Bucky felt a smile stretching out on his face at the nickname he’s always loved but told Steve differently to, “I gotta’ ask you something,” he started, “something real important.” The butterflies felt like they were eating his stomach instead of fluttering around in it, the foot against his own made him panicky instead of calm. 

“Oh, yeah?” Steve teased, closing the textbook in front of him and directing his attention completely on Bucky, “And what’s that?” his pale fingers curved over the book edge. 

He looked from the sky blue eyes of Steve, to the way his long fingers are playing with the corners of his textbook, and swallowed. Steve is something solid in his life, something he can count on being there during the rainy days of summer and through cold New York winters. Steve is everything- and- and he’s going to ask _one_ question that’s going to wash that away? Wash something so important to the both of them away because he’s selfish? He can’t do this. He can’t lose his friend- his _best_ friend. Jesus, what was he thinking?

“Uh,” he looked down at the worn watch on his wrist before hastily pushing himself out of the comfy seat and grabbing his things, “Nothing- I gotta’ go, class and shit.” He gives Steve- who has a look of worry on his face, hands stock still on his textbook- what he thinks is a reassuring smile before quickly walking to the nearest exit out of the library and into the cold. By the time he gets there, with how fast he was walking, his calf muscles burn.

Bucky, having left his coat on the back of his chair in his rush to leave, uselessly pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his knuckles and braced himself against the snowy wind. He didn’t know what he was thinking- well.. he did know what he was thinking, but he didn’t know why he thought ruining something good, something warm like Steve’s foot was against his own, was a good idea. 

Bucky sighed roughly, breath visible in the cold air, and mouth dry. He looked down at the snow patched stairs and started down them. He got to the third step when a familiar voice called out behind him. He turned around, snow lightly falling and melting on his skin, and saw Natasha standing on the top step. Her red hair whipping like fire, and all the stuff Bucky left at the table in her arms. 

He gave her a grateful smile and quickly hopped up to first step, “You’re the best, Nat.”

“Mm,” She pursed her red lips and watched him shove his arms through his coat and wrap his scarf around his neck, “You’re a wimp, Barnes.”

“What?” He paused his fixing of the scarf around his neck and looked up at Natasha who was giving him the most _if only I could kill you_ look he’d seen in days.

She rolled her eyes and propped one hand on her hip (he honestly didn’t know how she dealt with the cold as well as she did only in a thin sweater and leggings), “Don’t play dumb, James, it doesn’t look good on you.”

And that’s when it dawned on him. She _heard_. He thought her music was loud enough where she wouldn’t hear him lamely trying to confess his feelings to Steve, he thought she was paying more attention to the textbook in front of her face rather than him about to throw up words that would have killed something great. 

“You heard all- that?” He waved his hand at the door behind her and wanted to bury himself in the slowly building snow. 

She sighed, her face growing softer, and placed a warm hand on his shoulder, “James, we’ve known each other since when- high school?”

He nodded, cheeks freezing over, not sure where she was going with this. 

“And you’ve loved Steve since when?” She asked softly, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

He groaned slightly, how she could read him like a book, “I dunno’. Long time, middle school, maybe?”, he let out a steady stream of air and gave Natasha a pointed look, “But I know for a fact Steve doesn’t swing my way. Just cause he’s an activist for almost every cause you can think of don’t mean he’s gonna’ want to go out with his best friend.”

“All I’m saying is that you should actually ask him out. Not saying you have something to ask him then running out because you’re a wimp.” She dropped her hand and shrugged, “For all you know it could lead to an outcome that you want.”

“And for all you know it could crash and burn.” He snapped back. Incredibly annoyed with the subject and wanting to stop talking about his failure. 

Natasha sighed and took a few steps back toward the library doors, “Just ask him, James.”

He watched her disappear through the doors and internally groaned. Maybe asking would be a good thing. He thought back to his previous argument _asking would mean getting a weight off his own shoulders and maybe, just maybe, Steve feels something for him too_. He turned around and looked out to the snowy street, maybe asking would be better for both him and Steve. 

For all he knows, Steve feels the same. For all he knows his fears are misplaced and he’s just being an idiot. 

For all he knows, Steve loves him, too.

* * *

**3\. The End:**  


 **

_“You say that we're just friends  
But I want this till the end”_

**

After Bucky’s talk with Natasha (and after finding somewhere warm other than his dorm because he cannot deal with thinking about Steve and thinking about _telling_ Steve with the essence of Steven Grant Rogers surrounding him) he thought about the idea of _telling_ a little more and decided that, fuck it, he’s gonna tell Steve that he loves the fuck out of him and wouldn’t mind them being something more- you see, he’d say ‘together for the rest of their life’ but he’s not sure how Steve would deal with that.

With shaky hands Bucky tried unlocking the door, key slipping against the knob every time he tried to stick it in. He put one hand on the jamb and tried once more, amining the key- when the door opens and he pretty much, almost, stabs Steve in the chest with his key. 

Bucky looked between the point of the key to where Steve’s standing, blue eyes bright, lips twitching with amusement, and snorted a laugh to himself, “Almost stabbed you there, buddy.”

Steve’s smile broke into something wide and dazzling, and Bucky needs to take a few breaths because Steve’s smile could make him asthmatic with how pretty it is, “Thank God you didn’t. I don’t think the hospital staff wants to see me any more than they have to.” Steve teased. 

Bucky gave Steve a small smile and stepped into their dorm. He could feel his hands shaking and his heart beating like a hummingbird in his chest. It was annoying as fuck, and Bucky just wanted it to _stop_. He heard the door shut behind him and jumped, questions and worries buzzing in his mind. 

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked, concerned written all over his tone.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding, still not facing Steve. 

“You sure? Cause you were kinda’ jumpy at the library earlier, too.”

Bucky nodded, taking a breath, before he turned around and toed at the carpet, “I got a question for you, Stevie. Real important.”

“Like in the library important or..” Steve said, teasing him for the second time in a five minute span and that just wasn’t right. 

Bucky snorted and- finally- looked at Steve, “A lot more important than that.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door, “And what can be so important?”

Bucky took in another breath and let it out as steadily as he could. He looked Steve up and down, the kid was in baggy sweatpants (those are his, shit, Bucky thinks) and a white tee that’s splattered with paint. He looked good, as always. And that made nothing easier.

“I was wondering who you had a crush on.. or something.” He finished lamely. He His heart was pounding against his chest, a flush was rising up his cheeks, and he’s pretty sure those words sounded stupid coming out of his mouth. 

“Oh,” Steve said, sounding equally as breathless (Bucky hoped he didn’t need to find Steve’s inhaler) “Uh, I guess that is really important.” He shifted against the door and studied the carpet like Bucky was doing earlier. 

Bucky kind of wanted to run out the dorm, right about now, and throw himself in the slowly building snow. 

“Um,” Steve continued, a pretty flush going from his cheeks and down to his neck, Bucky wanted to follow it with his lips and tongue, “well, there’s this guy.”

And didn’t that feel like a shot to his chest. 

“He’s the best guy I know,” Steve huffed out a laugh and looked everywhere but Bucky’s eyes, and if he looked up once he’d probably see the pure _hurt_ that’s filling Bucky’s body, choking him.

“He’s real sweet to me, been there for me through a lot, he doesn’t think I’m weak even when I get myself beat up in an alley way.” Steve sighed and shifted again, “but I don’t think he likes me back. But, I mean,” Steve let out a self deprecating laugh that shattered the cracks in Bucky’s heart, “ who would?”

And Bucky wants to scream, yell, _I would and I do_ but he can’t. He can’t. Because Steve doesn’t love him. Steve doesn’t like him. Steve doesn’t even think he’s his best guy. And Bucky needs to get out of here before he does something stupid like start crying. 

“I’m sure the guys likes you,” Bucky said, the words tasting like acid in his mouth, “I just- I forgot Natasha and I had a thing, and I gotta-” he swallowed back a stupid lump in his throat, “I gotta go.”

He pulled Steve away from the door with gentle hands, taking in the warmth for that fraction of a seconds, ignoring Steve’s worried _Buck?_ , and unlocking the door so he can flee like a dog with it’s tail between it’s legs.

* * *

**4\. I don’t know how:**  
 __

**“I don't know how**  
To tell you I love you  
To tell you I miss you  
To tell you I care” 

Bucky walked around in the snow for a good hour or so. Trying to get the sting of Steve’s admission off his chest and replace it with numb coldness, before walking himself over to Natasha's and hovering at the door because he's a big idiot. 

Honestly, he had little to no right to be as hurt as he is now. He knew what was going to happen when he asked Steve those simple, little, words. He knew what Steve’s reply was going to be- that he had his eyes one someone else, someone _better_. But he always hoped. There was always that little glimmer in his soul that told him Steve loved him too, as more than a brother or friend. And Bucky gave into that with a little part of his heart, even when he told himself not to.

He internally groaned at how great his life was before knocking on Nat’s door three times and leaning himself against the wall. He only had to wait a good minute before Natasha opened it, and gave him the most unimpressed look he thinks she could conjure: lips pursed, perfect eyebrow raised, hip jutted out to the side, and her arms crossed over her chest.

“Wimp out again?” She asked, her words sharp as he pushed past her and into her dorm, grateful that she didn’t share with anyone else.

He took in the familiar space for a moment before throwing himself down on her bed and stretching out- leaving his boot clad feet on the floor out of courtesy- “No,” he grumbled, hugging one of her pillows under his head, “I did exactly what you told me to do and it crashed and burned.” And wasn’t that the perfect image of his love life?

Natasha made a noncommittal humm, “How so?”

Bucky rolled over on her bed- feet still on the floor- and shot her an _are you kidding me?_ look, “Well, see, I asked Steve if he had a crush on anyone, and as was about to admit my undying love to him, he told me he was crushing on someone.” Bucky sighed, feeling like he was in a shitty 80s movie, “Someone _not_ me.”

“Okay,” Natasha said from where she was now perched on her desk, “what exactly did he say?”

“You really wanna’ know?” Bucky rolled his eyes when Natasha nodded and sighed for what seemed like the billionth time today, “Well, he said the guy was real sweet, better than anyone he knows, and probably doesn’t like him.” he let himself sink into the mattress and looked at Natasha, “Who wouldn’t like Steve? I mean what a douche.” he huffed out a breath and scowled because that protective, will always be Steve’s best friend no matter what, side of him want to fly out a beat whatever guy that doesn’t think Steve’s worthy. If anyone in this world, hell- _universe_ \- is worthy of all the love and care that someone could give, it’s Steve.

“And,” Natasha said slowly, slipping out her phone from her pant pocket, “Steve never mentioned a name?”

“Nope.” Bucky replied, popping the ‘p’, ”Cause if he did I’d be at that guy’s dorm right now, talking some sense into him. Though, there might be a little more slapping around than talking, if we’re being honest here.”

A few silent moments passed before Bucky rolled over and looked at Natasha who was still sitting on her desk, her cell hanging from between her fingers, and a cat got the cream look on her face, “What? Why’re you looking at me like that?” he squinted his eyes at Natasha and waited what seemed like an eternity for her to reply.

“Barnes,” she said, flipping the phone over between her fingers, “you’re dumber than I took you for.”

Bucky felt a frown growing on his face and pushed himself into a sitting position on her bed, “Why do you say that?” 

“Because,” she said with a sigh, “you and Steve- you mostly- are the most oblivious idiots this world has ever seen.” She tossed him her phone before sitting back on the desk with a _my work here is done_ kind of look.

Bucky picked up the phone and frowned when he saw Steve’s name on top of the message screen. He scrolled through the texts when Natasha nodded at him and kind of wanted to punch himself in the face when he got to the most recent one.

**Steve: I think Buck knows I like him.**

“Shit,” Bucky said, mostly to himself, before pushing himself off Natasha’s bed and tossing the phone back, “I think- I think I have somewhere to be.” All the touches Bucky thought were friendly, all Steve’s clothes borrowing, and Steve’s like of sleeping on Bucky’s bed, it all made sense now. 

“Yes, yes you do.” Natasha threw him a two fingered salute, smirking to herself.

Bucky ran out her dorm, down the hall, and down what felt like ten flights of stairs, before pushing himself into the snowy night. He ran as fast as he could back to him and Steve’s dorm, a stupid smile taking up most of his face, snow getting in his eyes, but he doesn’t care because Steve actually _likes_ him. Not some random guy Bucky doesn’t know, not someone Bucky would have to compete with for the rest of his life, not someone who wasn’t him. And wasn’t that the damndest thing?

He got back to the dorm in what was probably record time, his chest heaving with lack of air, hand shaking, and snow melting in his hair. Bucky shook his head, taking a deep breath in and exhaling out, trying to calm himself down before he fucked something else up. He stuck his hand into his pocket, pulling the key that he almost stabbed Steve with earlier and unlocked the door.

The dorm was dark when he walked in. No lights on, not even the small bed side lamps he installed when he kept keeping Steve up with his late night studying. He closed the door behind him, light following the door as it closed, leaving him with an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and wrapped in utter darkness.

Bucky took a few steps in the dorm, hoping he doesn’t trip over shoes or something, he looked over to the bathroom and frowned, no light. “Stevie?” he called quietly, maybe the kid was sleeping?

No reply, Bucky slipped off his boots and quietly made his way to where he knew Steve’s bed was, and sure enough, there was a sleeping lump. Bucky put one knee on the bed and nudged Steve’s shoulder, “Stevie,” he whispered, nudging Steve again, smiling when Steve groaned in annoyance, “got somethin’ real important to tell you.”

Steve rolled over, sheets tangling his small body and frowned at Bucky in the blue light creeping in from behind the curtains, “Again with this, Buck?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and shook his head, “No, no, this time I’m being serious.”

Steve frowned, eyes looking red and tired- Bucky wondered if it was him that put that look on Steve’s face-, “What’s so important that you gotta’ tell me?”

Bucky bit his lip to try and stop another stupid smile from spreading across his face and took in a deep breath. Butterflies were wrecking at his stomach but he could do this, after messing up twice before, he can do this now- third time's a charm, right? “That-” Bucky cleared his throat and licked his lips, “that I love you.”

Bucky held his breath and gave Steve’s face a look over but he couldn’t read it. He waited to get punched in the face or for Steve to tell him off, both highly probable, but what he wasn’t expecting was two bony hands threading themselves in his hair, pulling him down, and soft lips meeting his. Bucky let out a surprised noise, he moved one of his hands to the side of Steve’s head so he wouldn’t crush the smaller man and kept with the rhythm Steve was setting. 

The kiss was everything Bucky wanted and more. Steve’s lips were soft under his, their noses brushing when they moved, and when Steve innocently licked at the seam of Bucky’s lips he swore he saw fireworks behind his eyelids. He doesn’t know how long they laid their kissing with wandering hands tracing lines on skin, but when he pulled back Steve’s lips were slick with spit and red like apples. 

“God,” Bucky whispered, hand resting on Steve’s face and thumb pressing into Steve’s bottom lip, “I love you so much.”

Bucky felt Steve untangle his hands from his hair and slowly drift them down his face. A warm touch to his nose, a line down his jaw, dots over his fluttering eyelids, before cupping his chin and settling there. 

Steve’s blue eyes flicked around, studying Bucky’s face for a moment, before he smiled and sighed, “I think I love you too, Buck.”

And even though it was just a thought, a small little thing, Bucky felt his chest bloom with warmth and another stupid, gummy smile growing on his face- Steve’s hands moving with it- because Steve, fucking _Steve Grant Rogers_ loves him too, even if it’s just a thought.

* * *

**5\. Crazy For You:**  
 __

**“I can't do anything without you**  
Can't do anything with you  
Drive me crazy but I love you  
Make me lazy but I love you” 

Bucky groaned, something was poking at his chest and there was a bright ray of light shining directly at his eye. His clothes- apparently he fell asleep completely dressed- were twisted around his body and the blankets seemed to be trying to choke him to death. Not how he liked to be woken up in the morning. Bucky peaked one eye open, ray of light blinding him, but a pretty face looming over him. 

“Good morning.” Bucky said, grouchiness completely gone, and a bright smile on his face because he remembered what happened last night. 

After confessions of love- which was pretty fucking awesome, if you ask Bucky- and a heavy makeout session, him and Steve just stared at each other. Their fingers tracing shapes on to skin that they were now able to touch and feel, both of them bubbling with so much happiness that they couldn’t contain and kept smiling at each other because of it. And, apparently, at some point of the night, they fell asleep together.

“Morning, Buck.” Steve replied, settling back on the bed. 

They were both quiet for a moment, Bucky throwing off his coat and scarf, before turning back to Steve, “So,” he started lamely, not too sure how to ask his best friend- boyfriend?- if he remembered night before? It wasn’t like they were drunk or anything, but he wanted to give Steve and out if he needed it, “you- ah- you still feel the same way as you did last night, right?” Bucky cringed at his words, but kept his eyes on Steve.

Steve, being the annoying punk that he was, rolled his eyes, “Yes, Bucky. I think I remember telling my best friend something I’ve been wanting to tell him since the dawn of time.”

Bucky felt his heart jump in his chest and more butterflies wreck at his stomach, “Dawn of time, yeah?”

Steve lightly pushed at his chest and blushed, a little pink stain spreading across his cheeks and neck, “Yeah, since I knew what love was. Happy?”

As much as Bucky was happy, he was also slightly confused. Yeah, he felt like he could fly right now, jump out the window and touch the sun, but then he remembered Peggy. He remembered Steve crushing on the girl so hard that Bucky wanted to crawl in a hole a cry because she was perfect for Steve. Powerful, strong, intelligent, and so much more. “But,” Bucky picked at Steve’s baby blue sheets and sighed, “but what about Peggy?”

Steve was quiet for a few moments, and Bucky couldn’t meet his eyes, he didn’t want to see anything that Steve couldn’t take back. He didn’t want his wings melting like Icarus, because Steve’s his sun, sky and god damn stars, and he’d melt for him anyday- but not today. Today he just wanted to soar through clear skies, let his fingers reach out and touch, indulge in his selfish wants; today he just wanted it to be him and Steve.

“Peggy was different,” Steve said, his voice quiet, “and I didn’t love her.”

“Steve-” Bucky started, his voice on the brink of begging, because _please_ don’t lie to him.

Steve held his hand up, it shook a little and Bucky wanted to wrap it between his own, ”Peggy was different. She was nice, and kind, and a hell of a girl. But, I didn’t love her.” Bucky opened his mouth to talk but Steve slapped his hand over it, “Sure I liked her a whole lot, could have loved her if she had stuck around, but I’ve only ever loved you. You,” Steve stressed the word, taking his hand off Bucky’s mouth before continuing, “Bucky, I’ve only loved you.”

Bucky was speechless, his mouth moving but no words coming out. He closed it, averting his eyes from Steve’s all knowing gaze before trying to speak, “I’ve loved you since God knows when, Steve. And,” he shook his head, “I never thought you’d love me back. Not like this.” He picked at the sheets again, wanting to do something with his hands, “And earlier, I ran because I thought you liked someone that wasn't me. I thought you’d never look at me like this. Sure,” Bucky said shrugging, “if you liked someone else I’d be there will you through the whole thing, hurting and wanting- but I’d be there.” Bucky finally met Steve’s eyes and licked his lips, “I’d have been your best man, I’d take care of your kids on the weekend, I’da been everything you wanted me to be because I thought I was everything you _didn’t_ want.”

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice was breathless as he took it all in, and Bucky wanted to hide under the covers because he just bared his soul to Steve, he let all his walls down and felt raw like a picked at cut,”‘Bucky, you’re everything I want, everything I need, everything and more. And, God, how could you think that?“

Bucky let out a mirthless laugh and shrugged, “‘Cause I’m blind and stupid and over dramatic when I want to be.”

“Well,” Steve said, cupping his his face, “don’t think like that anymore ‘cause you’re stuck with me, jerk.”

“‘til the end of the line, punk?” Bucky asked, hopeful, another stupid smile on his face.

“Don’t you know it.”

* * *

**6\. When The Sun Don’t Shine:**  


 _

**“When the sun don't shine  
You are mine”**

_

Bucky knew it was going to happen sooner or later. With the snow steadily falling and Steve’s want to stay in the art department’s cold studio- he knew Steve was going to get sick. It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything, it’s something that happens year round and he’s used to it, but when Steve wakes up next to him in the morning (and ain’t something Bucky never thought would happen) with his hair a haloed mess, eyes puffy, and a wheeze to his breathing- Bucky freaks the fuck out.

Not externally, no, but internally. He doesn’t know what to do, forgets where all Steve’s inhalers are, doesn’t even remember what jello flavor that Steve likes to eat when he has a sore throat. He blanks and that’s.. that’s not good. 

Steve mumbled something incoherent, pushing himself out of their accidental blanket fort before Bucky snapped out of his haze and pulled Steve back into bed, “Nope, you’re sick Steve.”

“‘m not that bad, Buck.” Steve said, totally lying because his voice was scratchy and once he hit the bed he snuggled into the sheets like a cat in the sun. 

Bucky looked down at Steve’s sick form and frowned, “How’d you get sick anyways? You seemed fine yesterday?” Hell, they went out yesterday, the two of them went to their favorite pizza place then walked around Central enjoying the lights and snow. 

Steve hummed before cracking a blue eye open, “Been sick since the beginning of the week but I didn’t want to say anything ‘cause I figured it’d pass.”

“Steve,” Bucky started, breathing in through his nose, “when does it ever just _pass_?” 

“Buck,” Steve sighed, pushing himself up from their bed and stepping down onto the plush rug Bucky rolled out when the tiles got cold, “I’m fine it’s just a cold.”

Bucky slipped off the bed, following Steve into the bathroom when he left the door open and leaned against it, “What’s your temp, then?”

Steve glared at him through the mirror as he put toothpaste on his brush before sticking it into his mouth. Apparently, today he was going to act like a seven year old.

“Steve,” Bucky sighed, pushing himself away from the jamb and standing behind Steve, in front of the mirror, “don’t punch me.” Bucky muttered, because he wouldn’t put it behind Steve. Carefully, Bucky rested his hand on Steve’s forehead and frowned, because Steve had a fucking _fever_. And he told him just that.

Steve finished brushing his teeth before turning around, leaning against the sink, squaring his shoulders, “I’m going to be fine, Buck. Don’t worry too much.”

Bucky made a strained sound in the back of his throat, he leaned his forehead against Steve’s, hands on the smaller man’s hips, “But I do worry, Stevie, ‘m always gonna’ worry when you get sick.” he sucked in a deep breath before adding, “Even more now.” quietly. 

“Why ‘even more now’?” Steve asked, his voice hushed, his cold hands coming up to rest on Bucky’s neck. 

“Because now-” Bucky could feel a blush spreading across his cheeks, “-now, I know you love me too.” Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the touch of Steve’s hand on his neck. His heart was splayed open for Steve. Cut down the middle like an orange, his love dripping everywhere, with nothing he could do to pull it back in. 

“Oh, Buck.” Steve sighed, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into Bucky’s skin.

Bucky leaned in closer, eyes still closed, pressing his lips somewhere by Steve’s nose and under his eye, “Can’t lose you.” he said into the skin. Bucky didn’t know if he could deal with hospital visits like he did back then, when he was oblivious to Steve and to his heart. He wasn’t sure if he could throw on a strong, stoic facade because now Steve knew, now _people_ knew how much he cared. How much he loved. And Steve getting sick- let it be a cough, or the common cold- broke him down like nothing else. 

“I know, I know.” Steve’s lips brushed his skin as softly as his words came out, “But you gotta’ let me have room to do stuff even when I’m sick, okay? Promise I won’t push myself too hard and I can do it all from here this weekend.”

It wasn't Steve swearing stubbornness off, it wasn’t him saying he won’t hide being sick anymore, it wasn’t him saying he won’t let it get too bad, but it was something. It was Steve making a compromise, it was a little promise that Steve won’t break ‘cause he’s not that kind of guy, and Bucky took it. He took it like an important slip of paper that he’d keep in his back pocket every day. 

“Okay, okay Stevie.”

* * *

True to Steve’s word they spent the rest of the day lazing around. Steve either on the bed (at Bucky’s insistence) or at his paper cluttered desk. Bucky went out each time they got hungry for a big meal, wrapping himself up in a thick coat, and throwing on his scarf before braving the snow. Steve- if in a good mood at that moment- would either kiss him goodbye or grumble something at him. 

Bucky knew that on Monday they’d have to go to their respective classes, both of them trudging between snowy sidewalks and warm class rooms, him not being able to tell Steve to bundle up tighter or some random thought off the top of his head. He knew he’d probably only pay attention to half of what his professors were saying because his mind was focused on Steve. But, what could he do? Worrying about Steve, _loving_ Steve, is like second nature to him. Like the lines on the palm of his hand, it’s always going to be there. 

“What’s got you thinkin’ so hard, Buck?”

“Hm?” Bucky looked down at where Steve was leaning against his chest, book he was reading now closed, blue eyes questioning, “what’d ya’ say?”

Steve rolled his eyes and poked Bucky in between the eyes, “What are you thinking about that’s making you scrunch your face up like that?”

“Oh,” Bucky knew he could spew out all his worries and wants and cravings to Steve, but for once, just this one time, he wanted to keep it to himself, “just thinking about Monday and finals ‘s all.”

Steve studied his face for a few, long seconds before going back to his book.

The room was silent for a handful of minutes, only the sound of Steve leafing through his book and their breathing filling the space. Bucky could feel his eyelids getting heavy, his breathing slowing to something calm, only random song lines drifting through his head every now and then. He knew he was falling asleep, his mind and body tired after a day of taking care of Steve, when he felt Steve rest his head fully on his chest and Steve’s hand cover his own. 

“You know I love you too, right?” Steve asked, his voice quiet like he was worried something would break if he rose it. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice hushed like Steve’s. Even though Steve doesn’t say it half as much as he does, he knows, “I know, nobody could tell me otherwise.” He flipped his hand over so their fingers could twine and pressed his lips to Steve’s hair. 

“Okay,” Steve said with a sniff, “how about we call it a night?”

Bucky held Steve close to his chest for a minute before letting go, “Thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

**7\. Honey**  
 __

**“Honey, you're so fine**  
I wanna be with you all of the time  
I couldn't tell you just how much I loved you  
But now that you're all mine, I'll tell you all the time” 

**Years later..**

The store was cold when Bucky walked through the doors, cold and looking too uppity for him to be walking into dressed in dark wash pants and a blue jean button down.

“How can we help you, Sir?” A man said, his suit perfectly fitting, walking over to the entrace where Bucky ws hovering. 

Bucky stuck his hand in his pockets, fidgeting for a few seconds before looking the man in the eye, “Engagement rings.”

“Ah,” the man said, a smile creeping to his lips, “male or female?”

Bucky let out a sigh of relief, no judgment today, “Male.”

“This way, please.” The man said, taking a few steps backwards before turning around and going behind the counter.

Bucky followed the man, looking at all the shiny and glittery jewelry as he passed it. The place was nice, he noted, not as uptight as he thought, but nice. He’d have to thank Natasha later, even though he knew it’d go to her head. First she got them together, now she’s going to help them get married- well, that is if Steve even says yes.

The man pulled out two velvet boxes of rings, placing them on the counter along with a pad of paper, “What do you think your future fiancé would like?”

 _Hoped to be future fiancé_ , Bucky thought. He looked down at the rings. Most were bedazzled in some sort of diamond or ruby, and it’s not that he couldn’t afford something like that on his professor’s salary, but he didn’t think Steve would like that. Steve was a simple, classy guy, and Bucky didn’t think he’d appreciate something with a huge blue stone on it (even if it would bring out his eyes). Bucky let his eyes roam up and down each row, disappointment rising at each row closer to the last until he found The Ring. It was perfect, simple but not, and Steve would be able to wear it even when he was painting. 

The Ring was a nice it was almost like three rings combined into one and had a rough hammered effect. The Ring- or rings- were twined together to create one, and Bucky, letting his inner sap out, thought of it as: Their friendship, their relationship, and- if Steve said yes- their marriage. 

“This one’s perfect.” Bucky picked up The Ring, and held it in the palm of his hand, he could see Steve wearing this for the rest of his life.

“So, that’s the one?” The man asked, a genuine smile now on his face.

Bucky nodded, feeling like Smeagol, wanting to call it _my precious_ and not let it out of his hands. 

“Are you sure, because we have other more intricate rings.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, breathless, “this is the one.”

* * *

“You don’t have to come tonight, Buck.” Steve said for what was probably the hundredth time as Bucky fixed Steve’s tie.

He finished tightening the knot at the hollow of Steve’s throat, leaning down to press a kiss right above it, before putting his hands on Steve’s shoulders and making sure Steve was actually looking at him, “I’m going with you tonight, Steve.”

Steve frowned, his bottom lip pushing out making his frown more of a pout and making Bucky want to kiss it off him, “But you’re tired, it’s obvious. There’ll be more galleries, you know that.”

And Bucky did. After they graduated college, Steve got commissioned by Pepper Potts to make a painting for the centerpiece of one of Stark’s galas. Bucky knew it was bound to happen one day but Steve, the negative ball of energy that he can be, thought after two months of going freelance that he was getting nowhere. But once he did that painting for Stark, a simple propaganda-esque thing that Steve could do in his _sleep_ , everybody wanted him. Bucky couldn’t count how many galleries he’d been to, Steve’s painting usually center front, but he knew he’d never miss them. Especially not this one.

This gallery was Steve’s own personal, solely him presented gallery, and like hell would Bucky miss it. He wasn’t about to miss one of the most important days in Steve’s life and he wasn’t about to wimp out on the act that came with the velvet box in his suit’s pocket. After he bought the ring, the thought long and hard about how he was going to propose. Whether it be at some fancy restaurant, in Central park when the Christmas lights were up and made the whole place look even more romantic and magical, or just on a mundane day when Steve was wearing one of his shirts and making them breakfast in the morning. But then Steve got the idea for this gallery, and Bucky knew that was the perfect place to propose. 

All their closest friends were going to be there, some of their family that they called in just for the occasion, and it was going to be a night Steve would always remember, so why not make it even more special? 

But, Steve being Steve, worried over the long hours Bucky’s been staying up to make sure his students were going to pass their final, thought Bucky would really miss out on something just because he was a bit fatigued. Sure, he was tired after a long days of grading his student’s papers, sure his stomach was filled with more butterflies than the first time he told Steve he loved him, but none of that was going stop him from walking hand in hand with Steve into the gallery and at some point of the night, getting down on one knee and asking for Steve’s hand in marriage. 

“I know,” Bucky sighed, trying to get some of the butterflies out of his stomach, “and I’ll be at all of them. Even the ones that have me naked as the day I was born plastered on a canvas.”

“Fine, fine,” Steve grumbled, apparently not in the mood for one of their usual banters, moved out of Bucky’s hold to slip his jacket on, “now let’s go before I’m late to my own gallery opening.”

“With your driving we’ll be there by the time it’s over.” Bucky muttered, patting himself down, keys in his pocket front, phone in his back pocket, and ring box inside his jacket.

“Speed zones were made for a reason.” Steve said, his voice echoing off the walls of their newly bought brownstone, “And I’m not about to get a speeding ticket just so I can get somewhere faster.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, following Steve out their bedroom, “Always the boy scout.” he said, knowing how much a lie that was with all the fights Steve got into.

* * *

The gallery was a huge turn out. 

The studio was filled with friends, family, and complete strangers who were there to see Steve’s art. Most of the pieces Steve had up for auction already had high digit bids on them, and the open bar was passing out drinks by the second. 

Bucky himself was wandering around in the background, letting Steve bask in all the attention and watching his boyfriend from afar to catch the right moment to get down on one knee and ask the stupidly important question. He could feel the box brush against his ribs each time he moved, like a reminder that tonight was the night. 

He watched Steve for a while longer as he was talking to some frufru looking woman, gesturing wildly with his hands, a pretty blush staining his milky skin. And Bucky couldn’t anymore, now or never. He tipped the rest of his drink back, letting it burn as it went down his throat, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Bucky took in a few deep breaths, trying to get rid of the newly summoned butterflies, he set his glass down on the passing waiter’s tray, and stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling the velvet box out. He looked down at the box for a few moments, opening to make sure the ring was actually in the box, before making his way to Steve.

Each step he took towards Steve made the butterflies- or are they pterodactyls?- in his stomach flutter harder and harder. His hands were shaking, calve muscles straining with each step, and he’s pretty sure he broke a sweat. Bucky passed Natasha and Sam, both of them gave him not so subtle thumbs-ups as he went, making him huff out a laugh and shake his head. He slowed his steps down when he got closer to Steve, taking deeper breaths and trying to figure out what he’d say: Should he make a big show of it? Should he reminisce about their younger days? Should he just drop down on one knee in front of Steve like a madman? Or maybe toss it in Steve’s drink and hope to God he doesn’t choke on it? 

Bucky stopped behind the now alone Steve, all the thoughts of how he should propose gone from his mind. He took in another deep breath before tapping Steve on the shoulder, left hand behind his back. 

“Hey, Buck.” Steve said with a wide and happy smile on his face, “What’s up?”

“Got a question for you,” Bucky started, memories of his first confession of love to Steve running through his head as he lowered himself down on one knee and brought his hand forward, opening the box, “somethin’ real important.”

_-fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://winterxoldier.tumblr.com/) if you want c:
> 
> Songs:
> 
>  
> 
> [1\. Boyfriend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkF-JtjXXP4)  
> [2\. Our Deal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1ujIHZVFL8)  
> [3\. The End](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzsrFiGcA4g)  
> [4\. I Don't Know How](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-c8WOprJjE)  
> [5\. Crazy For You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVJEQuY2zhY)  
> [6\. When The Sun Don't Shine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWtT4Vklyo8)  
> [7\. Honey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjgEq6VZFHI)


End file.
